The Visitor
by whimsy-chan
Summary: Shounen ai, unpopular opinion about Trowa's past, sap, sap, sap. Trowa wakes from a disturbing dream and has a late-night visitor.


Title: The Visitor  
Author: Whimsy  
Pairings: 4+3/3+4 (I don't know if I marked that right...)  
Rating: PG This one's pretty clean, folks.  
Warnings: Angsty? Sappy? *snort* Life affirming? Nothing particularly   
overwhelming. Um... better call this one AT or something, as well.  
Notes: This was originally inspired by that bit at the top, but then it went   
off in its own direction and became something else. *shrugs* I'm unfocused.   
Oh, well. Trowa's POV. Thanks to my beta reader. He knows who he is. ^__^  
Disclaimers: Not mine, no money. Please don't sue. The Gift belongs to Annie   
Lennox and can be found on Diva.  
Dedication: For Z-chan. Happy Birthday, dear!  
  
The Visitor  
  
~Darling don't you understand  
I feel so ill at ease  
The room is full of silence and it's getting hard to breathe  
Take this gilded cage of pain and set me free  
Take this overcoat of shame  
It never did belong to me~  
  
I was dreaming again. I don't remember the specifics of the dream anymore,   
but whatever it was, it was enough to trigger the memories. I can't hold back   
a shudder as I try to push them away. I can *feel* phantom hands wandering   
over my flesh, touching and groping my most intimate parts. I want so   
desperately to call out for help; I wanted to then, when it was happening for   
real, but I never did. There was no point. No one cared. No one would have   
stopped them. Calling out would've only attracted more of them. Silence.   
Silence was always the best defense. If they don't notice you, you can get a   
few more moments of freedom.  
  
My chest is getting tight, like there's a weight sitting in the middle of it.   
They were always so big--so much bigger than me. Sometimes I was afraid I   
might suffocate under one of them. Then I thought that might be a good idea;   
if I died, they couldn't touch me anymore. In retrospect, I'm glad I  
didn't die with one of them on top of me--inside me. I have a little pride. That   
would have been just too much.   
  
It's getting hard to breathe. I get up, stumble to the window and throw it   
open. The air washes over me, cool and smelling of lilacs. There. That's much   
better. It reminds me of where I really am, who I'm really with. There   
weren't any lilacs on L3. Quatre's houses, though. There always seem to be   
lilacs near Quatre's houses. I gather his mother was particularly fond of the   
lavender flowers with their rich, heady scent. I think lilacs will always   
remind me of him.   
  
It enters my head, as it often does at times like this, to seek him out. I   
doubt he'd mind being woken up in the middle of the night. He's so kind and   
generous with himself. I always feel better whenever he's around. I hesitate   
to put a name to these feelings he awakens in me, but in the dead of night   
when there's no one but me around to hear I can say I love him. My heart   
swells for a moment with that thought. I love him.   
  
However, a large part of me feels I don't deserve him. I've been...  
defiled. I know I'm not to blame. I was a child. I couldn't defend myself. What was   
done to me was utterly beyond my control. But I can't help but feel the shame   
that comes with being used. It's irrational, I know, but true nonetheless.  
  
Of course, he's not precisely a being of innocence and light, either. I'm   
not delusional--I won't put him on a pedestal. He's as human as I. But   
still--there are things in my past I have no right to burden him with and   
burdened he would be, if I let him see my innermost thoughts. If I go to him,   
he'll want to know why. I don't want to tell him.  
  
And yet.... And yet, if I do, I think he'll make it better, somehow. If   
merely being in the same room with him can make me forget the degradation and   
pain, then maybe telling him about it will make it go away, or at least   
diminish. Maybe if I could hold him while I slept, I could get through an   
entire night without one of these episodes. My mind lingers on that thought   
for a long moment; Madre de Dios, it's a wonderful thought, and I've had  
too little wonder in my life.   
  
I wish... I almost wish he would come to _me._ That would make it so much   
easier. That makes it _his_ choice, not mine. I can't seem to get past the   
sneaking, insidious voice that whispers to me that I'm not good enough for   
him. I don't deserve to have him, so I mustn't pursue him. I'm not  
allowed to love him. If only he would come to me.  
  
The knock at the door startles me. It's quiet and a little hesitant, as if   
whoever is on the other side is afraid to disturb me in my thoughts. I wonder   
briefly who it could be, but there's really only one person who might come   
knocking on my door at this hour, isn't there? For all that I want him and   
delight in his company, I'm amazed that he seems so attached to me. My own   
insecurities prevent me from asking him how he feels about me, but sometimes   
when he smiles at me... he shines so bright it almost hurts and I think he   
must care, at least a little.  
  
I wonder, too, how he knew. How did he know I was awake? Did he know I was   
thinking about him? What, exactly, does his uchuu no kokoro tell him? I cross   
the room and open the door--I was right, of course. It's him.  
  
"Trowa?" He sounds so unsure of himself. That's rare. Normally he could match   
Duo for sheer brazen self-confidence.  
  
I fix my impassive mask in place. I've already decided I'm not going to  
tell him anything. I don't care if he's answered my unvoiced wish, appearing,   
like a small blonde genie in stripy pajamas, in my doorway just when I needed   
him most. I can't dump all of this on him. "Yes?"  
  
He's hesitating again, twisting the corner of his pajama top around his   
fingers. He's not usually so fidgety. He looks down, then blushes and looks   
to the side. Blushes? I glance at myself; I'm wearing baggy flannel pants,   
but no shirt. The drawstring came loose while I tossed and turned and the   
pants are hanging a little low on my hips, but it's nothing indecent. So why   
did he blush? He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a little   
squeak. I almost smile. He clears his throat and tries again. "I thought...   
that is, I felt--" His fidgeting has stepped up a notch--now he's also   
rocking from his left foot to his right and back again. He looks about ready   
to bolt. I wish I could make this easier for him, but I don't know what  
he's trying to say. He's been staring fixedly at some point just to the left of   
me, when he suddenly looks up and meets my eyes.   
  
My throat goes dry. Whatever this is, it's important. I can see that in his   
eyes. He's steeling himself for something. I don't want to know what this   
is. My voice is a whisper when I ask, "Quatre? Is something wrong?" My   
stomach feels like it's full of rocks. He studies me for a second, then his   
expression clears.   
  
"Trowa, I have something I want to tell you. I've wanted to tell you for a   
while now, but I wasn't sure how you'd... um... feel about it." He's  
losing steam. I still feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a train, though.   
"Um... tonight, though. I thought I felt something from you... with my uchuu   
no kokoro. I... um... what I wanted to tell you was..." He takes a deep   
breath. What did he feel from me? My nightmare? God, that must be it. He felt   
my memories, and now he's here to tell me that he doesn't want... can't   
be... doesn't want to deal with all that emotional baggage. I'm panicking.  
I know I'm panicking, but I can't stop myself. I want to shut the door in his   
face just to make him stop talking, but I can't seem to move. "Trowa, I love   
you."  
  
What?  
  
I must have heard him wrong, because he can't possibly have just said that he   
loves me. I stand, dumbfounded, still holding the door open with my right   
hand, my left hand clenched in a fist at my side. There's no expression on my   
face, I know, because I've trained those sorts of responses out of myself.   
While I try to assimilate this bit of information he... shrinks into himself.   
He looks stricken, like he wishes the ground would swallow him whole. Of   
course. He must be waiting for a response and I've been standing here like a   
pillar of stone. He pulls back like he's going to leave. His voice is so   
quiet. "I-I'm sorry, Trowa. I guess... I was wrong."   
  
I can't let him think that. Emotional garbage be damned. I reach out and grab   
his arm. "Quatre, wait." There's an edge of desperation to my voice; he must   
have heard it, too, because when he looks back up at me the stricken look is   
replaced with anxiety. I have to tell him. I have to tell him _now_ how I   
feel about him. I've never had something more important to say. I choke on   
the words, but get them out nonetheless. "I-I love you, too, Quatre. I always   
have." I nearly sag against the wall in relief. It's out. It's over. He   
knows. Deserving or no, he knows how I feel. The words are barely out of my   
mouth before I find my arms full of small blonde Arabian. He wraps his arms   
around my waist and tucks his head under my chin. I pull him close, basking   
in the light and the warmth of him. I'm so glad he's here. I'm so glad he   
came. I can feel the heavy shroud of my nightmare, of my memories, lifting,   
to be replaced with the glow of requited love.  
  
He pulls back a little and kisses my collarbone; that sends an irresistible   
shiver down my spine. He brushes my hair away from my face with one hand and   
studies my eyes for a moment. He looks serious again, but I can still see the   
smile trying to fill up his face. "There were other things tonight, weren't   
there?" His voice is quiet and concerned. He did feel my nightmare, after   
all. "Do you want to talk about it, Trowa?"  
  
I think I may tell him everything.  
  
owari 


End file.
